


First there is a button, then there is no button, then there is...

by Dark_Ruby_Regalia



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blow Jobs, Button Biting, Established Relationship, Fabric Worship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 09:55:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10332035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Ruby_Regalia/pseuds/Dark_Ruby_Regalia
Summary: Established IgNoct having a quiet cuddle on the couch. Maybe it's a microcosmic adventure through the lands of Noct's adoration.





	

Ignis is stretched out on the couch, hoarding cushions to prop his back. He’s turned his open book towards the lamp in the corner, and it reflects a gentle warmth back onto his face. Ethereal, barely perceptible, but Noct spends a lot of time looking. He smiles to himself and closes his eyes, focused on the moment. He has his cheek resting on the pocket of Ignis’ shirt. When he blinks his eyelashes catch on the seam of it, and he nuzzles into the fabric more. Ignis’ warmth seeps through it. His chest moves with each breath, shifting the creases slightly. Noct pays attention. He can smell the fragrance that always sits so close to Ignis’ skin, an elusive alchemy that he chases after but can never quite catch as he breathes Ignis in. 

Ignis takes his hand from Noct’s hair every time he turns a page, then replaces it, nestling his fingers back in. It’s seems an absent-minded and habitual touch, but sits deep at the heart of this bond. To begin with, contact was hard fought for: there were many reasons it shouldn’t exist, many hurdles to overcome. Honour and duty and fear of the unreciprocated. But as they learned of each other they began to lean into each other, to make a language of small touches, to express through contact what they couldn’t find words for. It’s an endless conversation. 

Noct closes his eyes and pulls his arm tighter around Ignis’ waist. For a while he simply listens: heartbeats and pages turning; his own breath. He moves his fingers across Ignis sides, inscriptions of sensation, small adorations. He could live right here like this forever, folding his contours into Ignis’ own, knowing just how their bodies fit together. They have built a muscle-memory around each other that should warp realities as it transitions from the public to the private to the... obscene. Maybe the Gods forgot to keep watch. 

One of Ignis’ shirt buttons is lined up with Noct’s lips. Noct reaches his tongue out for it and gives it a flick. It’s smooth and hard and small. He thinks about Ignis pushing that button through its hole with nimble fingers. Just one button in a line of buttons, unremarkable until Ignis touches it, then suddenly it’s everything in the world until Ignis moves onto the next. Noct raises his head to bite it, to hold it between his teeth. It clicks against them with a sound so satisfying he does it again. Ignis lifts the book out of his way so he can see what’s happening, and Noct pauses there, button trapped in his bite, looking up at him through messed locks of hair. He pushes the button back through its hole with his tongue. 

He does have a very clever tongue. 

Ignis falls back against the cushions, the book instantly forgotten in his hand. Noct smiles as he bends to the next button. He undoes that too. 

There is skin visible now, and Noct presses his face into it, brushing his lips past the fabric to the flesh, ghosting across it, teasing himself more than anything. He shifts his hips to let his dick move comfortably as it swells, and he moves his body down, settles between legs and buries himself in the coarse weave and the belt loops and the pockets sheltering Ignis’ groin. It is hot here, radiant; Noct rubs his cheek against firm bulge, against hard seams, against cold metal buckle. And the smell of leather belt, O Gods... 

He props himself on elbows and slides the belt tail out of its restraints, lifting it off its prong with a constriction and release that pulls an open-mouthed exhale from Ignis. He has his eyes closed and his head tilted back, exposing his neck and the underside of his jaw to the full benefit of Noct’s vantage point. Noct wants it. He wants to fling himself up there and stroke his fingers along it while he whispers little promises between a nip and a nibble. But his fingers are already working at a zipper, separating each side. He does all this with his face so close to his hands, he can’t focus on them. Everything by feel and by familiarity: a ritual. 

He slips his fingers beneath waistband. It’s a cue: Ignis lifts his pelvis enough to let Noct pull his pants clear off. This is one action no amount of practice can lend any elegance to: it’s a concentrated wrestle between two men and some lucky tailoring. Noct settles down low now, and the tone shifts palpably. He closes his eyes while he kisses a trail upward along Ignis’ inner thigh. He keeps going until he feels Ignis hard and swollen against the side of his neck, and he goes further as he navigates around it, feeling its tip drag and stutter against his skin, press under his chin, then bob up the other side. He keeps going until he’s placed kisses all around it: a hot cock in the centre of consecrated ground. 

Then he opens his eyes, and it’s right there right before him. He breathes it in, whimpers silently in gratitude for its proximity. This was always – always – a moment that paused him, a little bit of reverence before worship; the ecstatic pleasure of anticipation. Then his lust takes control of his devotion and he lowers his lips to it, licks its slit and lets it slide past those button-biting teeth, the head cradled in his mouth by a hungry tongue. 

Ignis drops the book.

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended to be something else, but ended up as a kind of mild fabric/texture/button fetish. Which I have, but it wasn't supposed to show up here... So... _Hello_.


End file.
